I sat on my porch to draw the night, the stars and clouds that wander gently across the moon, it's bluish-yellow glow tinting their whitened edges. My pencil danced across the page, lingering where the world was darkest and empty. Smoke rose from my cigarette and I wasn't quite sure what I had drawn just then. My eyes had no light to see by, no knowledge of the path my pencil had taken. The night had simply drawn itself (whatever it thought of it itself).